To fight aloud, is very brave— But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom The Cavalry of Woe— Who win, and nations do not see— Who fall—and none observe— Whose dying eyes, no Country Regards with patriot love— We trust, in plumed procession For such, the Angels go— Rank after Rank, with even feet— And Uniforms of Snow.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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